Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Two sets of objections rush my way only to be ignored.
I mean…it will look less suspicious, but I also need a moment alone.
A moment to do something for me on my own.
And they…they clearly need a moment to sort through the shit I didn’t mean to accidentally kick up.
Nurse Minnie Marlowe escorts me to a patient room down the hall, making flattering conversation about my outfit the entire way. Once we’re inside, we go over a few basic questions I didn’t get to on the form as well as the purpose of today’s visit. Our time together is brief and thankfully, my wait to see the doctor herself is even shorter.
The honey-pecan skinned white coat wearing female who enters the room fills me with relief and jealousy alike.
I know it’s wrong, but I’m grateful the guys are stuck in the lobby.
This woman is too pretty to be a fucking doctor.
Which is an asinine thing to think.
But like…still.
She is.
Did her modeling gig get cancelled too soon?
“Miss Ripley?”
There’s no hesitation to nod.
“I’m Dr. Garcia,” she warmly states at the same time she extends an open palm at me, “but you can call me Dr. G.” Her perfect pout lips curl upward. “Dr. Garcia is my dad.” A playful sneer is offered afterward. “And my abuelo.”
“A family of doctors?” Crossing one leg over the other occurs on a small snicker. “How’d your brother luck out?”
“He made an interesting case against not being one when we were kid’s which led him to where he is now.” This time we giggle together. “Besides, Vic is a little squeamish when it comes to the really gross stuff.”
Certainly not the impression I gathered.
“The guy can barely hold it together when abuela makes menudo from scratch.”
“Why? What’s in menudo?”
“Beef tripe.”
“Is that like a tricep of a cow? Do cows even have triceps?”
“It’s stomach lining.”
Dry heaving motions occur without a second thought.
“Yeah, the shit’s not for everyone, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say our abuela’s menudo could turn the biggest nonbeliever into the most devout follower two spoonfuls in.”
Another round of light giggles leaves me.
“Now, he didn’t tell me much, but he told me enough.” She scans her keycard to be given access to her computer. “Today, you’ll be receiving a full physical – free of charge per training hospital rules – as well as a full bloodwork panel and a full body scan – although considering what might be in your body, we may be exploring that in a less traditional fashion. Please, be aware that the cost of the other procedures has already been completely covered.”
“But-”
“Nope,” Dr. G effortlessly denies. “Covered is covered. And that’s all I will be say regarding it.”
Why do I get the feeling Garcia is responsible for that?
And why do I feel like he’s not the only one good at arguing in their family?
“Let’s pull up your chart and touch base on a few things,” she insists in tandem with completing the action. “Nothing in family history…” Scrolling casually begins. “Nothing in known procedures…” More mouse movement. “No known allergies…” All of a sudden, she hums and turns her attention to me. “Looks like Minnie forgot to mark the dates of your last menstrual cycle. Can you recall when it was?”
“Sure. It was-” the abrupt midsentence stopping is accompanied by me leaning back in my chair.
When was it?
Was it that long ago?
It doesn’t feel that way.
Then again with everything that’s been happening lately time has sort of began to blur together.
“Can’t remember?” Dr. G sweetly investigates.
“Um…actually…I can’t.”
“Not exactly surprised considering the intensity and trauma of your situation – which we will dive just a smidgen into for medical reasons only – however, perhaps we can gather an approximate date? How are your cycles typically? Steady? Monthly? Little longer? Little shorter? Abnormal?”
“Monthly,” is airily exclaimed. “They’ve…always…been…monthly.”
“I see.” Cautiousness cakes her voice. “And you…can’t remember if you’ve had one this month?”
I shake my head.
“Do you recall having one last month?”
I reluctantly repeat the action.
“Miss Ripley,” the curly haired woman across from me slowly begins, “have you considered the possibility that you might be pregnant?”
Chapter 12
Nolan
Things I love?
Watching Rabbit dance around the kitchen and karaoke oldies from Elton John.
Cindy Lauper.
Or in today’s case, The Four Tops.
“Ohhhh,” she dramatically sings into the parmesan cheese shaker while theatrically pointing at me. “Sing with me, Mutt.”
I merely grin, shake my head, and fold my arms across my chest, amused by her captivating pre-cooking performance.
What can I say?
She really knows how to move her hips and has got good taste in music.
Typically, anyway.
Every so often she puts on shit that damn near breaks me out in hives.
Like dubstep.
Seriously.
What the fuck is that shit?
All of a sudden, The Kid enters the apartment, prompting Rabbit to redirect her singing his direction. To no surprise, he lovingly chuckles out, “Hey to you too, baby.”